


Suffering in Silence

by orphan_account



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: One brother battles with Clinical Depression that has worsened over the years. Can the others step in and help? Will they even notice?Please read the warning at the beginning of Chapter 1 prior to reading this. I don't wish for anyone to be affected by this story.





	1. Chapter 1

#### Disclaimer: None of the characters depicted in this story belong to me.

  
I’m fully aware that the birth order of the boys is clearly still a touchy subject. I’ve chosen this one because It works well for the story, please keep any unkind opinions on it to yourself, it’s not the end of the bloody world.  
I have not had this writing checked over by anyone prior to posting so apologies for any errors.  
  


#### I would like to precede this story with another disclaimer of sorts.

  
For anyone who suffers from Depression or Anxiety, this story may contain references to the deepest and darkest it can get with the feeling of desperation as it destroys everything you once loved. I do not wish to trigger any thoughts of self-harm or worse so please read this at your own discretion.  
I by no means claim to know how Mental Health affects individuals, however I merely hope that this can inform a few people how important mental health is or simply lets someone suffering know that they are not alone and there is always help.  
  
I highly recommend reading up on the symptoms of Clinical Depression from the NHS.UK website. _(https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/clinical-depression/)_  
I would also recommend looking at this website if you are at all interested in learning more about mental health and how it can affect you and those around you. _(https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml)_  
  
Thank you for your time, please reach out to someone if you are struggling.  
**Do not suffer in silence.**  


  
  
Ages I will be using for this story:  
Scott - 24  
John - 23  
Virgil - 21  
Gordon - 19  
Alan - 17

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


### Suffering in Silence

  
  


Frantically closing the door to his personal bathroom behind him, he fumbles to lock it before collapsing to the cool floor. The threatening familiarity of his thoughts and increased pulse did nothing to help him calm down.  
Running rough hands through sweat-soaked hair, his fingers gripping tightly, scraping and clawing at his scalp desperate to quell the swelling panic threatening to erupt from within his chest.  
  
How was it fair that he was the one who survived?  
  
The world literally came crashing down upon him and he had somehow survived.  
  
The failure survived.  
  
God, he wished he hadn’t.  
  
Each rapid heartbeat thuds ever louder in his ears, blocking all noises and rational thoughts. Fingernails digging deep into flesh, almost drawing blood. Unwelcome and illogical thoughts of immediate danger begin to trespass into his mind and spread through his synapses like a raging fire.  
  
His body desperately gasps for air. His pulse surges as his body begins to fight the invisible demons in his thoughts.  
  
Strained and strangled sobs wracked his tense body, each time feeling like ropes has risen and were constricting around him, ribs aching from the enormous effort of each breath. His body automatically finds a steady rocking motion as he curled up, lungs begging for precious oxygen they simply weren’t receiving. The walls around him growing closer and closer as he grabs fistfuls of his hair.  
  
“M-m-mom, Dad? N-no… MOM!” the words came choked and rasping, no louder than a whisper, “Scotty? Sh… Shhhiii… Sh-SHIT! NO! L-leave m-m-me!”  
  
His heart was now thumping hard against his ribcage, threatening to explode through his sternum at any second. His skull felt as though it were being ripped apart, as if someone were splitting it open like a coconut cracking under a rock. Nausea and panic overriding any slither of logic or control that may have survived.  
  
Was this anguish what those they failed to rescue felt before their death?  
  
Was this the torturous fear his mother had felt before the avalanche overwhelmed them both all those years ago?  
  
Was this his punishment for being the one they pulled out first?  
  
Was death the sweet relief from such paralysing despair and horror?  
  
A pained, guttural scream is dragged from somewhere deep inside him as the anxiety and panic reaches its crescendo. His vision is blurred and dark as he fumbles around on the floor, still gasping.  
  
Crawling along the floor, he reaches out a trembling hand and grasps at the cut-throat razor he’d hastily strewn upon the marble counter earlier that day after shaving. Undoing a dark leather belt, he slides his now oversized jeans down past the slew of cuts that littered his skin. Each cut displaying various stages of healing.  
Slumping to the floor again with his back against the door. He brings his right thigh to lean across his left, accessing the soft scab-abundant flesh on the side of the upper thigh.  
  
A hitched breath escaped his dry lips as he pressed the sharp steel into his pale skin.  
  
Blood oozes from the deep laceration, relief and peace surging through his body. He allows his head to fall back against the door heavily with a soft thud, eyes falling shut as his limbs go limp at his side. The razor clatters on the floor tiles, spattering dark blood across the pristine white surface, the sweet metallic stench filling his senses.  
  
He feels the rhythmic decrease in his heart rate, breathing slowing to a more manageable level.  
  
Awareness floats back down upon him casually, like a feather falling through a light breeze.  
  
All anxiety fading, all fears dissipating. Rising to take their place came guilt, hopelessness, self-loathing and the mightiest of migraines. He groans softly, pressing the heel of his blood-covered hand into his eye socket in a feeble attempt to ease the pressure in his skull.  
  
He can’t remember the last time his cruel mind allowed him respite from this nightmarish hell. Not one of his brothers has noticed his self-punishment, his aversion to all that once filled him with happiness or the way he was allowing his once proud and strong body to waste away. Nor had they spoken to him about any of it. They must blame him.  
  
He knows that.  
  
Maybe that’s why their father had fled and disappeared. Perhaps he could no longer cope living with the crippling disappointment of his own son, the one who had survived.  
  
His brain felt as if it were pulsing against the internal wall of his skull. He glances down at the cut-throat razor once more. Perhaps now was the time to finally act upon these self-destructive thoughts. To give his family peace from his burdening presence. He really had hoped that one day a rescue would take him, he’d come close many times, so that his brothers would not discover him having taken what felt like a weak and cowardly retreat.  
  
Maybe he just-  
  
  
  
“Virgil?!”  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Virgil!”  
  
He startles and gives a small shout, nudging the razor across the floor loudly, wincing as the noise reverberates in his head.  
  
“Virg, is everything okay?” the concerned voice slices through his very being with incredible force, followed by the door handle being rattled, “I heard you shout, are you okay in there? Let me in… Now.”  
  
“Shit,” Virgil hissed, scrabbling to return the razor to its place. How had they heard him scream from their office?  
  
He swallows hard, trying to alleviate his dry mouth. Grabbing a small hand towel, he mops up the blood that had pooled in the grout between the tiles. Pressing the towel against his leg forcing pressure upon the self-inflicted wound. Guilt multiplying within him.  
  
“Uh, I’m okay,” Virgil stuttered, voice cracking slightly as he spoke, “just, uh, slammed my hand in the drawer.”  
  
The deliberately audible sigh from beyond the door informs Virgil his that his rushed lie was indeed as poor as he had suspected.  
  
“Virg,” the voice urged, its tone now quiet, “please unlock the door… For me?”  
  
The raven-haired man steals a glimpse at himself in the mirror, searching for any telling traces of the horrific ordeal his mind had inflicted upon him. He hastily checked the room for any remaining blood, mopping any up with the towel.  
  
Virgil was now so used to dealing with these occurrences and resulting actions alone and without suspicion that the sudden appearance of what was sure to be a kind and understanding brother, felt like a personal invasion of his privacy. He felt anger seething through his tired body.  
  
“Can’t you just wait? Everything is fine, I’m just cleaning up after the rescue,” Virgil offered in what he had hoped to be a peaceful tone.  
  
“Virgil, get out here… Now,” the voice did not respond in the peaceful manner Virgil had hoped for.  
  
“Just a sec, Scott,” he gulped, forcing his voice to sound upbeat as he had done so many times before, shoving the small blood-soaked towel into his jeans to cover the laceration on his thigh before buttoning up.  
  
Virgil straightened himself up and forces the smiling mask to appear on his face once more. Unlocking the door and slipping through the small gap, he bumps straight into his eldest brother’s chest, cursing under his breath.  
  
“Talk to me, Virg,” Scott sighs, speaks softly again as his hands firmly grasp Virgil’s shoulders. Brilliant sky-blue eyes searching the empty chestnut eyes of his younger brother.  
  
“I’m fine Scott, honestly,” he lied, edging away from his brother and breaking eye contact, “just wanted a little time alone after that last mission.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Scott snapped, moving an arm to block his younger brother’s path before softening his tone “c’mon, we can talk about it over a drink?”  
  
Virgil feels his teeth clamp against each other, grinding as his brother’s voice attacks his fuzzy brain. His hands are now tightly clenched, shaking.  
  
The younger man makes a move to duck under Scott’s outstretched arm, to freedom, before he is quickly pinned backwards against the wall. Virgil’s head makes harsh contact with the wall behind him and the shaking of his body intensifies.  
  
“Virgil!” Scott demanded, pushing his entire weight on his forearm against the top of the younger’s chest as if to reaffirm his superiority and control, “don’t walk away from me when I’m speaking to you! What the fuck’s gotten into you lately? Always skulking around like- Virgil look at me when I’m talking to you.”  
  
Virgil deliberately turns his head as far away from Scott as he physically can. Though he knows he’s being childish, he finds he cares very little at this point.  
  
“Let me go, Scott,” he whispers forcefully.  
  
The eldest scoffed.  
  
“Seriously? Not until you talk to me, there’s clearly something wrong and I can’t help unless you tell me!” Scott’s voice loud and stern as he tries to look his younger brother in the eye.  
  
“Nothin’s wrong,” Virgil grunted quietly, fists shaking violently now, “let me go.”  
  
“No way Virg, c’mon bro, speak to me!” Scott adjusts his forearm across Virgil, seeing his brother’s chest heaving with each quickening breath and notices his entire body trembling beneath his outstretched arm.  
  
Virgil screws his eyes tightly shut and shakes his head quickly.  
  
“S’nothin’ wrong, leave it!” He spits through gritted teeth, “let me go, there’s nothin’ wrong!”  
  
Scott is shocked by the defensive and harsh way his brother is speaking to him. Never has the eldest witnessed such hostility and venom from the peace-keeper of the family.  
Leaning his head closer to Virgil, Scott tries to search those dark eyes, to no avail as they remain closed.  
  
“Please, Virgil,” Scott murmurs, easing away from his brother slightly, keeping him against the wall, “you’re scaring me bro.”  
  
Virgil’s eyes snap open instantly, hands shooting up and balling Scott’s shirt into his fists.  
  
“I said LEAVE IT!” Virgil bellowed, pushing his older and taller brother away with surprising force, towering over the eldest as he falls to the floor.  
  
Virgil takes off running as fast as he can, heartbeat racing once more as adrenaline surges through his veins. He runs down the sweeping staircase past his two younger brothers who sit playing video games unaware of his brief presence.  
Disappearing through the open doors, he bolts past the pool and onto one of the many paths down from the house towards the forest. Virgil continues to run at an astounding pace, his breathing now loud and gasping. Away from the path, Virgil slips through the undergrowth, between the towering trees and jumping over rocks until he is as far as his now weak body will take him. Standing at the edge of the lagoon, the middle Tracy slumps to his knees.  
Virgil screams out, his lungs pushing their last bit of air out in frustration and anger as painful tears sting his eyes.  
With that, he is spent.  
  
Virgil falls against the shore of the lagoon, unconscious and exhausted.  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all those who have commented and left kudos.  
> It means the absolute world to me.  
> Thanks again,  
> Lexi  
>   
>   
> 

  
  


Stunned, Scott picks himself of the floor and leans against the wall his younger brother had just shoved him towards. Mouth wide open in shock, he observes the empty corridor where Virgil had escaped. Scott straightens up from the wall, running his hands down his chest to flatten the shirt he wore. Looking down, the eldest spots something upon his light blue shirt.  
  
A bloodstain where Virgil had grabbed his shirt.  
  
Whipping back around towards Virgil’s bedroom, he goes to get a better look at the stain in the bathroom mirror.  
  
The dimly lit room is sterile and immaculate. Each object therein located in its own place. It felt false to Scott, clinical almost. He frowned at himself in the mirror, eyeing the large bloodstain standing out on his pale shirt. Scott’s eyes drifted further around the bathroom, coming to rest on an object that looked out of place in comparison to the rest of the correctly laid out items.  
  
A cut-throat razor. Lazily left in the middle of the marble countertop, nowhere near it’s stand.  
  
Scott eyed the razor for a moment smiling, thinking it amusing that his perfectionist brother favoured the use of a cut-throat razor to shave with as opposed to a quicker electronic razor. Picking up the blade, Scott examined the tool with interest. He flicked his thumb across the sharpened edge.  
  
“Yeesh, that’s sharp!” Scott exclaimed to himself.  
  
It was typical of Virgil to possess the best tool for each job. All his tools, whether engineering or artistic, were of high quality and well looked after. Virgil was a proud man who took great pleasure in completing any task, whether it be a rescue, a piece of art or repairs to his ‘bird, to the absolute highest standard he could.  
  
Nothing short of perfection would satisfy Virgil. It was one of the many admirable qualities his brother possessed that Scott cherished. He understood that Virgil preferred to be solitary in his search for excellence and was often ruthlessly critical of his own work. It had been the driving force behind his astounding accomplishments in his numerous academic ventures.  
  
Scott made to replace the item to the stand where it belonged, pausing as he rotated it. Flipping the razor over in his palm to discover fresh blood along the length of the blade and handle, now transferred to his hand.  
  
Concern began to rise in his stomach like a burning acid. Scott sighed, frowning, washing the razor and his hands clean before returning the blade to the stand.  
  
Deciding to give his younger brother a little time to calm before approaching him again, Scott chooses to use the rare opportunity of Virgil’s absence to his advantage. The eldest begins to investigate further into his brother’s room. Exiting the bathroom, he enters the large space normally occupied by the middle Tracy child.  
  
Virgil disliked anyone, younger or older brothers included, being in his room. It was his personal sanctuary.  
The last time Scott had been privileged enough to gain a welcome entry was when Virgil had sustained injuries from Thunderbird Two’s spectacular crash landing over a year ago. Scott, along with his brothers, had kept Virgil topped up with food, drink, company and painkillers. Scott had been the only one Virgil had allowed to help him replace the dressings on his extensive burns and wounds.  
  
More recently however, Scott had occasionally been left with little choice but to enter the room very briefly in the dark to rouse his deep-sleeping sibling for chores or food.  
This should have been the first sign that something was amiss, though casting his mind back now, Scott had not thought much of it being so preoccupied himself with running International Rescue in his father’s absence.  
  
Virgil enjoyed his food and loved to make the most of each new day as it came, usually spending any downtime painting scenery, sketching figures or composing music on his beloved piano. Though it had been some time since he had heard the delightful music played upon the impressive grand piano that sat in the main living area of the mansion.  
  
Scott flipped the light switch, illuminating the vast room before him.  
  
Scott fondly remembered this room being covered in drawings and paintings of the family, the island and the mighty Thunderbird machines. He remembered each colourful ornament that adorned the walls and surfaces. There had been qualifications and certificates proudly framed upon the walls showing Virgil’s many impressive academic achievements. Scott could vividly remember the many colours that filled the walls of the large room, bright greens and blues. Despite being such a spacious room, it had always felt warm, comforting and pleasant. A room filled with happy memories of the family and flawless beauty depicted in only a way that an artist like Virgil could find and capture for all to see.  
  
  
_Oh, what a difference a year can make._  
  
  
The once blue-green walls had been drenched in an oppressive pale grey colour. Gone were the ornaments and trinkets. All photos, paintings and certificates taken down and hidden away. The curtains remained shut even though it was around two-thirty in the afternoon. The air felt stale and stagnant. The bed, made up tidily as if no one slept in it, was now a bland off-white colour. The massive room now felt cavernous and hollow, like a giant husk. Any personal effects that remained were now aligned and ordered meticulously, not a millimetre out of place. The baby grand piano, once the centrepiece of the room, Virgil’s pride and joy, had been pushed to the corner of the room and was covered in a thick spread of dust. This was the fate shared by the very few artistic objects that also survived and remained in the room.  
  
All colour and happiness gone from this room that once felt so warm.  
  
Scott shivered, as if cold. This extreme shift in Virgil’s personal space was alarming. How long had things been falling apart? How had he not noticed his own brother’s deterioration until now when it was so obvious and distressing.  
  
He hurriedly closed Virgil’s door behind him and set of for his own room a little way down the hall. Once inside, Scott made a grab for the communicator, instantly selecting to call his immediate younger sibling.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

John was quietly monitoring voices from the emergency services bickering about the best way to handle the small earthquake that had hit near California. He smiled to himself quietly as he observes the Earth far below his feet, rotating endlessly, a sight that never ceases to amaze him.  
John was drawn from his thoughts when a familiar beacon sounded, signalling an incoming call from Tracy Island, specifically Scott’s room. He gracefully flicked his hand over the projected call sign to bring the incoming call to the centre of his attention.

“Go ahead Scott,” John called, calmly smiling, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

John’s smile and upbeat tone faltered as he observes the projected form of his older brother who’s face expressed great worry and who’s shirt sports a large dark stain.

“Woah, what’s happened to you?” the space monitor enquires, lightly floating closer to his brother’s form to investigate, “is that-?”

“Blood,” Scott replied flatly, “Yeah, it’s not mine though.”

John’s eyebrow quirked upwards as he inhaled sharply, silently questioning his older brother. Scott does not elaborate further; his projected form simply stares off into the distance somewhere to John’s left. John stares at his older brother, noting the concern etched across his tired features. There was an unsettling silence that fell between them as Scott thought about where he should even begin with the onslaught of emotions and worries swirling within his head.

“When was the last time Virg played his piano?” Scott wondered aloud.

John blinked.

This was honestly the last thing he had expected Scott to say. Usually Scott was direct in his words, not one to take a detour around the subject. John opened his mouth to respond, however no such answer presented itself, so he closed his mouth and waited for Scott to continue.

“Honestly John, can you remember?” Scott paused, thoughtfully, “I can’t remember the last time I heard Virg play, I miss it y’know? Why haven’t I noticed-”

“So,” John interjected quickly, “are you not going to elaborate further on the blood on your shirt? Or where it originates from?”

Scott was almost surprised by John’s interruption, being the two eldest brothers came with a connection and understanding of concerns each other had. Though Scott could not simply expect John to read his mind, he would have to explain.

“It’s Virgil’s,” Scott sighed, finally looking his red-haired brother in the eye.

John could not prevent his mouth gaping open like a fish.

“Scott,” John started, pausing to think about all the scenarios that could have occurred, “are you okay? Is Virg okay? What’s happened?”

Scott sighed, his shoulders slouching forward as he massaged his temples slowly. The realisation of the enormity of the scale of the information he was about to divulge.

“Fuck, John. Where do I even start?” Scott asked, eyes searching the projected ones of his immediate younger brother.

“Start by telling me you’re both okay!” John exclaimed, almost making Scott jump.

“I’m okay John, I wouldn’t say the same for Virg though,” Scott admits, “there’s something seriously wrong and I’ve got no idea where to begin.”

“Something to do with the rescue earlier? Must have been a struggle for him,” John offers.

“More than that, John,” Scott sighs, exasperated, “though the rescue may have exacerbated things.”

John had known that the rescue earlier that day would prove to be a particularly unsettling one for them. From the moment the call came in with the word _Avalanche_ he knew there would be fragile scabs ripped from deep emotional scars. He had considered deferring the call to other rescue services in the area before realising the desperate need for International Rescue’s attendance.

“He refused point blank to sit through debrief,” Scott murmured, continuing, “he upped and left without a single word before I’d even got to cover his arrival to the scene in Thunderbird Two, I’m thankful Gords and Alan weren’t involved if I’m being honest.”

John hummed his agreement, fidgeting the projection of the earth around to keep his hands busy.

“What happened there?” the red-head queried, “I was talking Gordon through the buoyancy calculations for that breeched submersible off New Zealand not long after you and Virg arrived at the Swiss Ski Resort.”

“Not many survived, John, it turned recovery after the first dozen or so,” came the sombre response from the brunette.

“I’m sorry, Scott,” John whispers.

 

Scott recalled to John the almost radio silence from Virgil for the duration of his flight to the location of the avalanche. Upon Virgil’s arrival to the area, he had seemed lost and overwhelmed.

They had a brief discussion about what their individual roles would involve before getting to work, using heat detecting sensors to locate those trapped under the tonnes of snow. After the first few people were pulled alive from the devastating wreckage left by the avalanche, the remaining heat signals were much less promising. Weaker and paler than before.

Virgil had been the one to discover the first poor soul who had succumbed to their injuries before help could arrive.

 

She was a young woman, Scott would estimate late twenties, with long golden hair. Virgil had carefully slipped his arm around her and gently lifted her from the snow, no different to what he would have done if she had still been alive. Though this was frustrating and deeply upsetting for him, nothing could have prepared him from what was underneath the lifeless woman.

 

A small child.

 

A small child, a boy no older than Virgil had been when their mother had shielded him in a similar way all those years ago. The young boy was shaking but alive. Still suffering from shock and the effects of the bone-chilling temperatures. Virgil had immediately placed the woman on the snow next to him, respectfully covering her with a sheet before plucking the infant from the ice cocoon his dead mother had created around them.

Virgil was like a statue by the time Scott made it across to where he was. He sat on the alpine snow clutching the boy to his chest, sharing the warmth of his own body to protect the child.

 

Scott had come to understand many years ago that life was cruel, but this really took the prize.

 

The image of the young boy being held to his brother’s chest brought all the memories cascading down to Scott like a dam bursting open. His eyes were locked with Virgil’s, sorrowful and glistening with unshed tears.

 

It was like they were back there.

 

All Scott can think of is the awful day it all happened, they had all watched the avalanche wipe out the cabin where his mother and brother had been, engrossed in their mutual love of art, drawing landscapes and having fun whilst the others took to the slopes with their father.  
  
When the avalanche hit, Scott and their father had immediately raced to it and began digging frantically to get into the submerged cabin. When the rescue crew had arrived, some began to join in the digging, whilst others had attempted to soothe the remaining Tracy children, who stared on in horror.

After several gruelling hours, Scott watched on as his father had finally broken through the remains of the wooden rafters to access a small void carved in the snow.

 

Scott watched his father’s heart break in that instant.

 

His mother Lucille, his father’s beloved wife, lay motionless in the snow with her hair spread behind her head. Blood staining the pristine snow around her. Lucille’s lifeless arms wrapped tight around his middle brother, the one who held the strongest likeness to her.

Scott watched as his father faltered as he reached to touch the woman he adored and towards his son, being pulled backwards by rescue crews.  
The next thing Scott can remember is pulling his silent younger brother from the snow-covered wreckage of the cabin. He recalls the relief they had felt upon finally finding Virgil alive and largely unharmed.

 

Largely **_physically_** unharmed.

 

Virgil’s face was as white as the snow he and their mother had been buried by and he was shaking violently.  
His small fingers were bleeding profusely from wounds under lifted and split fingernails. They could only imagine, with great horror, that the wounds were a result of the small boy’s desperation to dig and claw his way out of the mangled remains of the cabin, to get help for their mother.

 

Scott shuddered involuntarily. Feeling cold and empty.

 

Virgil displayed all the emotional struggle holding the small boy that Scott had witnessed on their father’s face as he had held Virgil.

Scott explained the rest of the rescue after that point to John, who patiently listened. He told of Virgil’s reluctance to leave the scene until all people, alive or otherwise, had been recovered.   
John’s heart sank when Scott recollected discovering Virgil digging at the frozen soil and rocks with bare hands, tearing his flesh open as he dug frantically to find the poor soul who was the source of the dwindling heat reading.

Scott had immediately called off all rescue efforts and ordered Virgil to stand down and return to base. Virgil had reacted with such hostility to Scott that it shook him.  
Upon returning to base, Virgil had bolted from the attempted debrief in Scott’s office, straight to his own room. Or at least that was what Scott had though, being as that was where he had heard the scream emanating from as he walked up the hall.

Now John was as up to date as Scott felt he could bring him, he had no choice but to get to the final concern for their younger brother.

“I found his cut-throat razor covered in blood Johnny, his hand was covered too, I mean,” Scott paused glancing down, “look at my shirt, that’s a _lot_ of blood.”

“You think he’s started again?” John trembled, fearing the worst.

“What can I do Johnny? We’re losing him to something,” The eldest looked to his immediately younger sibling, hoping for help, “he wouldn’t even look me in the eye, let alone talk about anything.”

“Where is he now, Scott?” questioned John urgently.

“He took off after pushing me over, I don’t think he be too pleased to see me after earlier, thought I’d give him some space, y’know? He can get so wound up sometimes, it’s like he’s still a teenager!” Scott sighed, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Are you more bothered by the fact that you haven’t noticed something was wrong sooner? It’s not Virgil you’re angry at Scott, and you shouldn’t blame yourself either, this isn’t anyone’s fault,” John soothed.

Scott found he had no words to return for his brother, he simply nodded in silence.

John kept silence also, pondering his next move carefully. He manoeuvred his body away from the display of his eldest and turned to face EOS looking in one of her many camera faces.

“EOS,” John cooed softly, “Continue to monitor all correspondence through the channels, I’m leaving you in control for a short while, call me immediately if you require any assistance. Do you understand?”

“Affirmative, John,” came the confident response from EOS, her voice humming slightly with concern, “I will monitor all situations until your return.”

John turns back to face the hologram projection of his brother, who’s eyes were threatening tears. He floated closer as if to reassure his brother.

“I’m coming home Scott,” John whispered, seeing Scott’s face look up at his own, “we’ll help him, Scotty.”  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

“I can’t lose him, John… It was so close last time,” Scott whispered softly, tears now dripping steadily from his eyes, worry threatening to destroy any remaining composure he had.

Scott closed communications with John moments before the red-head was due to begin the short journey back to earth in the space elevator. The eldest Tracy swiftly wiped the tears from his face with his shirt sleeve before leaving his room.

Scott could hear noises coming from the main living space as he made his way down the hallway towards the stairs. He vaguely recognised the noises as those from the latest instalment in the series of Alan’s zombie video game that Gordon had brought for his birthday a few weeks ago.

Upon entering the living area, Scott swiftly made his way over his brothers, noting their preoccupation with the game on the large screen in front of them. Each brother focused on their own virtual characters, Alan having selected the heroic survivor, Gordon had naturally chosen the flesh-eating and rotten foe. They were furiously pressing at buttons on their controllers, locked in a head to head battle for survival. Scott cleared his throat to make his presence known, to no avail.  
  
“Hey guys,” Scott quips loudly, finally gaining the attention of the two youngest, “have either of you seen Virg?”  
  
“Nope… I’m… ‘fraid not Sco- _GORDON!_ That’s not FAIR! Scott was distracting me!” Alan screeched, launching himself towards Gordon who fell backwards cackling with laughter on the sofa.

They wrestled loudly, Alan trying to punch Gordon, who managed to completely disable him by grabbing a hold of the youngest’s wrists. Gordon howled with laughter as Alan tried to kick him now, controllers falling forgotten on the floor.  
  
“QUIT IT!” Scott bellowed, causing Gordon to drop Alan on the floor in a heap, “I need to know where Virgil is so if you’ve seen him, be helpful and speak up.”  
  
“Woah, chill Scott,” Gordon defended, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “we’ve not seen him all afternoon, figured he’d be sleeping again, what’s up?”  
  
“If you’re worried where he is, Scooter, why don’t you call him?” Alan queried, clambering back onto the sofa, picking up his controller and swiping Gordon across the back of the head.  
  
“Yeah,” Scott agreed falsely, “I’ll go give him a call.”

Scott strode across the room, playfully adding his own swipe to the back of Gordon’s head, earning a muttered curse from the Aquanaut, as he left the youngest to continue with their game.

The eldest made his way straight towards the hangar area where his space-bound brother would be appearing shortly. He had decided to wait there for John before searching for Virgil, it was hardly wise trying to find him without back up when he was this distressed.

After a few more minutes of waiting, the space elevator entered the hangar and connected with the dock. The capsule began shutting down as John emerged slowly from the cramped space, wobbling slightly. Scott greeted John with a strong hug as he steadily left the capsule.

A hug from a brother when John returned from space always served two purposes.  
Firstly, all his brothers greatly missed his physical presence at home and were always genuinely happy to see him.  
Secondly, the re-entry into Earth’s gravity would always cause John some discomfort, meaning he’d require time to get used to standing and walking again, so the additional support was welcome.  
  
“Thank you,” Scott sighed as he released John from the brotherly embrace, still holding his shoulder firmly for support.  
  
“Anytime, Scott,” John smiled, “you know that.”

They began to walk towards lower patio area, away from the two youngest brothers who were currently unaware their second eldest brother was visiting.  
  
“I tried calling him on the way down,” John continued as they came to a halt by the railings overlooking the forest beyond, “he wouldn’t respond, I guess he may have connected the dots and figured we’ve spoken to one another about him.”  
  
“I’m not surprised he didn’t answer if I’m honest, you should have seen the look on his face earlier John, there’s no way he’s calmed down yet,” Scott sighed apologetically, his face downcast.  
  
“I did, however, use the tracker in his wrist comms to determine his exact location on the island,” John smiled, almost triumphantly, “got any ideas where he might be?”

Scott’s eyes lit up as he glanced around at his brother, curious and eager to know where Virgil had bolted to in his moment of explosive emotion.  
  
“Hiding in Two?” Scott pondered.  
  
“Uhh no, surprisingly, though that was my first guess too,” John admitted, pulling up a display of the island on his own wrist comms unit and pointing at the little locator beacon, “he’s here, by the lagoon.”

John manipulated the hologram model of Tracy Island to indicate the location of their raven-haired brother. Scott observed the green triangle that represented Virgil, noting that it was not moving.  
  
“Huh? The lagoon? Is he okay? I mean, can you tell if he’s alright?” Scott queried, catching John by the hand as he made to remove the hologram from view.

John paused, before shutting down the image on his wrist.  
  
“I thought we could go and find out together,” he responded, glancing at Scott’s eyes with a thin smile across his lips, “strength in numbers, eh Scotty?”

Scott quietly hummed in agreement before sighing, shoulders slouching forward slightly. The pair began to walk the sloping path from the mansion towards the beach and lagoon below. John continued to check the locator beacon for their younger brother as they sloped quietly through the trees and undergrowth.

Concern bubbled away in Scott’s stomach each time John checked their position in relation to Virgil. Each time, Virgil had not budged an inch from the position they had first found him in.

When they had neared the spit of sand that separated the lagoon from the calm and crystal ocean, Scott immediately broke into a fast jog to locate Virgil. John’s body, in its post-space-descent state, was in no position to proceed at anywhere near the same speed, so he settled for awkwardly ambling behind the eldest.

Scott made light work of the undergrowth, skipping quickly through to get to the edge of the deep lagoon’s shore. His eyes darted along the shoreline of the gently lapping waters, searching for any sign of his brother.

He was sure his heart skipped a beat or two when he caught a glimpse of a flash of red plaid fabric in the lush green vegetation. John had caught up to Scott by this point, observing the direction of Scott’s panicked stare.

The eldest Tracy took off sprinting towards his brother’s collapsed form across the lagoon.

Upon reaching his dark-haired brother, Scott fell immediately to his side. John was hot on his heels.

Virgil had collapsed onto his left side, his back to the lake, crumpled forward slightly onto his chest and arms.  
His skin was pale and cold.  
His eyes shut.  
Scott reached a shaking hand to his unconscious brother, placing fingers firmly on his jugular to check for a pulse. The relief Scott felt when he detected Virgil’s pulse was soon overtaken by the apprehension of it being far too fast and woefully weak.

“Virg?!” he sobbed, eyes scanning the unresponsive body in front of him for the cause of the weakened pulse.

Scott's stomach turned and a swell of warm nausea rose as he spotted the dark red stain seeping through the jeans on Virgil's thigh.

Reaching into his own jeans and flicking open his pocket knife, Scott quickly sliced the denim.   
A sopping wet blood-coloured hand towel rolled limply to the floor revealing deep laceration, oozing fresh crimson blood in a pulsating rhythm. The large wound was accompanied by many cuts, scabs and scars.

 

" _ **JOHN!**_ "  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

John finally reaches his brothers, panting from his brief stint of running. He collapsed to his knees beside Scott who is applying pressure to a deep laceration on Virgil’s thigh.

“F-fucking hell,” Scott stuttered, shifting slightly to allow John access to help.

John gasped, eyes falling upon the bloodied towel, seeping blood across the sand.

“We need to get him back to the infirmary,”

“There’s no way we can carry him, John. He’s solid muscle.”

Scott reached under Virgil’s arms and prepared to lift him as best he could.

Alarmingly, Scott was able to lift his younger brother with surprising ease, stumbling backwards as he did so. John gave him a questioning look.

 “He weighs nothing!” Scott hissed, adjusting his position and gently lifting Virgil over his shoulder, this way he was able to keep pressure on the wound.

John reaches a hand out to stroke through Virgil’s sweat-soaked, dark hair, “We’d better call the others and get them to prep the infirmary,” John suggested as they began to walk swiftly back to the mansion.

“Are you sure, John? That might not be the best idea,” Scott called back to him, concern laced in his voice.

“They will be worse trouble if you don’t tell them, I assume they don’t know I’m here either do they?”

Scott shook his head silently, placing his hand that wasn’t keeping pressure on the wound onto Virgil’s side, pushing him into a more comfortable hold, “Shit John, he’s all bones, I can feel his ribs sticking out.”

Pulling up the medical scanner function on his communicator, John directed it at his unconscious younger brother’s form.

“He’s tachycardic, its weak too,” he stared, glancing at Scott with a concerned look across his soft features, “low blood pressure and significant blood loss… his blood sugar is low… he’s lost a considerable amount of weight, Scotty.”

Scott jerked his head around to meet John’s worries eyes, “fuck! I can’t believe I’ve missed this.”

John bit his lip, pulling up his communicator to call his brothers. Gordon’s face appeared in front of him, Alan’s beaming face peeking over his shoulder.

“John!” Gordon yelled, “Hey! You bored up there in… Wait, where are you?”

“Where are you? Are you home? Why didn’t you tell us!” Alan whined indignantly.

“Alan, this is important,” John silenced the youngest Tracy with a stern gaze, “I need you both to set up the infirmary and prepare it for us. We’ll explain everything once we are there but until then, we’ll be needing oxygen, saline and a B-negative blood transfusion kit. ETA around ten minutes.”

“F.A.B. John,” Gordon responded, understanding the severity in John’s tone, placing a hand firmly on Alan’s shoulder, “consider it done.”

John shut off his communications and placed his hand over Scott’s to help keep pressure on Virgil’s thigh.

“His baggy clothes must have been hiding it,” he wondered aloud, looking at Virgil’s pale face in the brilliant sunshine.

Scott took off into a jog, desperate to get his younger brother to the infirmary as fast as possible.

“Come on, Virge,” he whispered pleadingly, “hang in there for me. I can’t lose you.”

 

  
As John turned down the corridor to the infirmary, he saw Gordon and Alan stood at the door, their faces full of concern. When they saw Scott carrying the middle sibling, blood covering his hands and forearms, their faces flashed with panic.

Gordon wrapped his arm around Alan’s small shoulders instinctively, reassuring him with a gentle squeeze. Alan’s features had paled slightly and his eyes were glimmering with tears.

“What’s happened to him?” He peeped quietly as Scott dashed into the infirmary, carefully lifting Virgil from his shoulders and manoeuvring him onto the gurney with help from John.

“Alan, we need to get him stable, then we can tell you what we know, until then I’m going to need you to be real brave, okay?” Scott soothed, rubbing Alan’s shoulder as John made to connect Virgil up to the medical scanners.

Alan nodded quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes, staring down at his older brother who lay upon the bed. Gordon quietly pulled the Alan towards the door of the infirmary, leaving the two eldest Tracy sons to pull sterile gloves onto each hand before proceeding confidently with each of their tasks.

“Scott, I need you to locate a vein on his inner arm and insert this cannula so we can get an IV line in,” John directed, Scott nodding silently in acknowledgement.

Taking the small package from John, Scott ripped open the plastic to free it, gently inserting it into a vein on Virgil’s forearm. He taped the cannula securely in place and picked up the oxygen mask, covering his dark-haired sibling’s mouth and nose.

John picked up the blood pack and saline bag that Gordon had retrieved for them, checking the blood type matched that of Virgil’s, before carefully hanging it from the IV stand. He swiftly connected the bag to the cannula and opened the clamp to begin the transfusion.  
Scott connected up Virgil’s body to the ECG machine which filled the room with a quick-paced series of beeps, indicating their brother’s heartbeat was still too quick. John covered his immediate younger brother with a thick blanket for warmth, lifting it above the wound on Virgil’s leg before cutting away the rest of his pant leg with scissors.

“Scotty, can you hand me the surgical glue, please?” John called, feeling slightly queasy from seeing the extent of the cuts that covered his younger brother’s leg.

Scott quickly handed the tube of ready prepared surgical glue to John, who looked pale and nervous.

“Wish I had paid more attention to his medical emergency lectures,” John admitted remorsefully, “I’d be shitting myself a lot less right now.”

Scott placed a hand over John’s own shaking one as it rested on Virgil’s leg, “I’ll clean the wound out, be ready with the glue,” the eldest reassured.

Taking the scissors from his red-headed brother, Scott snapped the corner off another saline bag and began to wash the wound. He located the source of the bleeding and moved slightly, allowing John access to insert the tube of surgical glue. Scott had to hand it to the medical genius that had developed the stuff, it had saved many a life during rescues.  
Though Scott never thought he’d be using it to patch up a self inflicted wound created by Virgil.

After John had carefully sealed the wound and attached a dressing, they set up monitors and timers to allow them to keep an eye on Virgil for the next three hours or so, waiting for the transfusion to be completed.

Sinking into one of the two sofas outside the infirmary doors, John finally let himself be overwhelmed by the emotions that were catching up with him like a tsunami. Scott slumped next to the second eldest, exhausted, as John buried his head into Scott’s shoulder, shaking with silent tears.

The eldest slipped his arms around John and held him tightly, forcing back sobs of his own. Alan and Gordon sat down on the chair opposite their eldest brother’s.

“What happened to him?” Gordon asked tentatively, studying John and Scott carefully.

Alan sniffed quietly beside Gordon, “he’s going to be okay, Right?”

“He will be,” Scott smiled weakly, wiping tears from his eyes, “he’s going to need our support, but we’ll get him through this.”  
Hi sighed heavily as John moved away from him and sat up, his eyes red and tear-filled.

“The Rescue earlier today seems to have…” Scott paused, carefully selecting his words as not to cause any confusion, “sent him back to a really difficult place… things have been deteriorating it would seem.”

Gordon furrowed his brow, “he’s started self-harming again, hasn’t he?”

Alan gasped and John flinched, “I don’t… it’s just…” the second eldest had no words.

“I saw all the cuts on his legs just then,” the aquanaut explained, “he’s gone down again hasn’t he?”

Scott found he had little else to say that would comfort his brothers, “John, get some rest here, I’ll sit in with Virgil and wake you the moment he’s up. We can get through this, as a family.”

Scott settled in the uncomfortable chair beside Virgil’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall rhythmically, the monotonous beeping from the ECG machine filling his ears. Slumping forward, Scott rested his head upon the bed close to Virgil’s shoulder, letting his heavy eyelids fall shut.

 

  
It was an hour or so later when Virgil opened his eyes briefly and shut them again as his head ignited with return of the debilitating migraine once more. He groaned quietly, eyes screwing tightly shut, pressing his hands against his temples, waking Scott from his light nap.

“Virg? You’re awake, oh thank… John! Virgil’s awake!”

Virgil visibly winced as Scott’s excited words felt as though they slashed through his very skull, he let another small moan escape.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 John rushed through the infirmary doors, closely followed by Alan and Gordon, only to be met with Virgil’s wide and fearful chestnut eyes transfixed on his own.

Virgil was visibly in pain and shaking violently. He made an attempt to remove the oxygen mask, only to have his arm jerked quickly away by Scott.

“You still need that,” Scott warned securing the mask and holding his hand over his sibling’s arm to prevent any further risk of shifting the cannula.

“Virge!” Alan called, rushing beside the middle brother who flinched away clutching his head with his unrestrained hand and tugging at the mask held in place by Scott.

 Gordon stood back, mouth open in shock and staring helplessly at his siblings before him.

“Steady Virge,” the eldest called as Virgil recoiled noticing the cannula and IV line attached to him, “you’re alright.”

John watched his brother scrabble to get free, hearing the increased beeping from the ECG reaffirming Virgil’s significant discomfort and panic.

“Guys! Give him some space! Why don't you give Virgil and I a moment alone?” John’s stern gaze met with Scott’s sorrowful one, lowering his voice as he spoke again, “maybe all of us at once isn’t wise.”

Reluctantly, Scott and the his two youngest brothers looked between themselves and Virgil before silently exiting the room.

The redhead swiftly placed himself into the still-warm chair to the side of the gurney, taking Virgil’s hand into his own, swiping his thumbs softly over his sibling’s knuckles.

“Breathe deep and slow for me now, Virge… Everything is alright. You’re safe… No one is angry with you, okay?”

Virgil shuddered, terrified eyes locked with John’s, like a deer caught in the full beams of a car. His breaths began to slow to a deeper rate as he gasped at the oxygen supply.

A hot pain radiated from the brunette’s pounding skull, exacerbated by the unrelenting beeping noise from the machine at his bedside. The metallic stench of blood filled his nostrils and covered the surface of his tongue with its taste, adding to the sensory overload that assaulted him.

“That’s it,” John soothed, lifting a hand to Virgil’s face and offering a warm smile, “You’re doing great.”

Virgil leant back against the stiff pillows of the infirmary bed, his body debilitated as lactic acid burned deep in his muscles. His eyes grew heavier as the strenuous effects of panic clenched their way around his agitated brain, like tendrils of ivy choking the a mighty oak tree.

With acerbic nausea surging in his throat, Virgil finally allowed his eyes to screw shut blocking out the bright light emanating from the fluorescent tubes above him.

The raven-haired Tracy covered his eyelids with his hands and pressed his fingers against his skull as if to force the pain from sheer pressure alone. His chest was tight and uncomfortable, his thudding heart echoing through his entire torso into his ears.

 “S-S… Suh… Sorry,” Virgil stuttered timidly, his fingers shaking as they remained pressed into his hair.

John’s heart ached as he observed his younger sibling’s form. He stood slowly and gently placed a hand upon Virgil’s shuddering shoulder.

“It’s okay… It’s okay,” he repeated quietly, watching the pained expression on his siblings face, “Let me get you some painkillers, okay?”

John paused as he carefully considered the magnitude of his next actions. It would be unfair to let his brother continue to suffer his anxieties whilst the transfusion completed its course, though would be unethical to sedate him whilst it happened.

Removing his hand from Virgil’s shoulder, he looked into the medication cupboard, flicking his eyes across a selection of Benzodiazepines. Opting for the most well known to him; Diazepam.

It had been one of the drugs used to control Virgil’s previous panic attacks all those years ago. John had been the one trusted to mediate the administration of the numerous drugs that had been selected by a doctor in an attempt to level off Virgil’s condition.

Upending the bottle and inserting a needle into the liquid, he measured out a moderate sized dose before returning the small bottle to the cupboard. Glancing over his shoulder nervously at Virgil, his sibling’s hands were still covering his face. John advanced to his bedside and inserted the needle into the cannula, slowly releasing the drug slowly into his brother’s vein.

Discarding the syringe, John resigned himself back to sitting in the chair, his head buried in his hands as he waited patiently for the calming drug to take effect.

“You’re okay, Virge,” John’s soothes as he assisted his younger brother to a more relaxed position.

John watched as Virgil’s eyes gently fluttered shut, placing a hand on his sibling’s chest and

The room was soon filled with steady, rhythmic beeps and breaths.

Looking up from his palms, John stood to prepare the second transfusion bag to continue the work of the first, now without the risk of their brother waking and compromising the cannula or the wound on his thigh.

John placed a light kiss on Virgil’s forehead before he left the room to seek out Scott.

“John! How is he, is he awake?” Scott demanded, up out of his chair like a rocket as soon as the redhead emerged from the infirmary.

“I’ve set up the second bag to complete the transfusion… and I… Uhh, I’ve…” he paused, looking guiltily as his eldest brother, “I’ve sedated him for the time being, it’s for his own good… He needs more time before he can process this.”

Scott’s eyes flashed angrily, but to his credit he didn’t let it filter through to his words, “Sedated him? Why?”

John glanced up at Scott guiltily before continuing, “it’s not fair to let him suffer whilst the transfusion is still in progress, he needs time to rest… To heal before he’s confronted by a room full of worried brothers and what would appear to be the migraine from hell.”

The eldest Tracy exhaled heavily, shoulders falling as tension released from them. Instead of replying, he pulled John into a tight hug.

“I can’t believe I’ve missed this,” Scott sighed, stumping back onto the couch outside the infirmary, “Some of those scars must be months old.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Scotty,” John offered, sitting opposite his older sibling, “Virge can be as stubborn as a mule if he wants something kept to himself.”

“Where do we even start with this?” Scott questioned, his steely blue eyes pleading with John’s.

 “We wait,” John reassured, leaning his hand across to Scott’s knee, “We wait until he’s as ready to tackle this as we are.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

It was dark outside and in the late hours of the evening when Virgil finally stirred from his restless sleep. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat which seemed to encapsulate him in an unpleasant and dirty warmth.

The dim lights of his surroundings painted light upon reflective metal surfaces and seemed to be absorbed by anything else, leaving the room bathed in an eerie glow.  
Blinking, confused and uneasy, Virgil lifted himself with his weak arms and sat up on the bed realising he was still in the infirmary. He observed the cannula embedded into the bend of his elbow and messily taped in place. He frowned slightly as he made to remove it. Hissing at the uncomfortable sensation, he swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand.

Virgil grimaced as he noticed he was stood in his boxers, his jeans lying in bloody tatters on the floor. He grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders to cover him completely before making his way silently towards the stairs. He hung back when he saw that the lights in the living area were still on, their intensity glaring into Virgil’s sore and tired eyes.

 

His four brothers were seated around the central console in the main living area of the Tracy Island mansion. A thick and heavy silence had smothered the room as each young man was alone with his thoughts. The ocean waves could be heard crashing against the volcanic cliffs around them.  
They had been sat there since John and Scott had returned from the infirmary a few hours ago. Alan had taken a lot of calming in the eldest two’s absence, Gordon had done his best to soothe the youngest and reassure him.

“What do we do now?” Alan’s voice sounded even younger and more delicate as it cut through the silence.

Scott breathed out a shuddering sigh as he lifted his head from his hands to look across the room at his youngest sibling.

“We just need to be there for him. Let him know he’s not facing this alone,” Gordon offered, wrapping his arm around Alan’s slim shoulders, “He’s still Virge, sprout… He just needs time to get back to us, right Johnny?” He glanced up at John who looked on at him, a look of surprise on his face.

“Exactly right,” John agreed, “There’s no need to tiptoe around him like he’s delicate glass, he’s still our Virgil. We just need to be patient until there comes a time he's ready to face things.”

Alan smiled weakly as the room fell into silence again.

“Shit,” Scott hissed, “When did you all grow up and get so wise? I feel like I’ve got three older brothers all of a sudden,” he laughed nervously, head hung low.

Gordon snorted softly as the tension still hung in the air.

John rested a hand on Scott’s shoulder, “You have to remember that this isn’t personal. Depression can make you lash out at those that mean the most to you, so try not to take it personally, Scotty.”

Alan visibly winced at John’s words, “That’s definitely it then? I thought he was over that?”

“Don’t underestimate the seriousness of it, Al,” Gordon snapped as he removed his arm from around the youngest Tracy, his voice firm. “It’s not something you can just fix or snap out of… Maybe you were too young to understand it when it got bad last time-”

“Gordon.” Scott warned getting to his feet in an attempt to smooth things out, instantly recognising the signs of Gordon’s temper.

“It’s more than just ‘feeling a bit shit’ or about ‘staying positive’,” Gordon continued, expressing his feeling clearly, “It's a constant debilitating condition that drains the life out of you… ALL. THE. TIME… All your enthusiasm for life, your motivation, your passions… ALL GONE! It steals every last fucking thing you love and once enjoyed and obliterates them! Fuck… He was so close last time and I can’t watch him go through that again! To watch him slowly try to ki-”

 “GORDON!”

Scott’s authoritative voice cut through his younger brother’s harsh words, halting him from his attack on the youngest. Alan’s face was pale and his baby blue eyes were wide with shock.

“That’s enough,” the eldest barked.

Gordon whipped his body round and stood to face Scott, redirecting his anger, “Don’t YOU dare start,” he snarled, “Not facing the problem is simply encouraging Virge to believe he needs to HIDE what he’s feeling. It doesn’t help him when you make excuses or try to cover what happened, it just enables him to justify his secrecy! No wonder he’s been holding everything in and burying himself away…”

Scott stood with his mouth agape, staring dumbfounded at the aquanaut as he felt a painful ache in his chest that his his younger sibling’s words had inflicted. He regarded his sibling’s form before him, the young man had his fists clenched and was bristling with anger.

“Gordon ple-”

“NO!” Gordon snarled, poking his index finger into Scott’s chest, “If we’re going to help him and have it make a difference, it needs to be a TEAM effort this time… John and I did our best last time but you, Scott… YOU were too busy telling him to ‘cheer up’... To stay ‘positive’... After all, he’s ‘got a great life’ hasn’t he? What is there he could possibly be depressed about?” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he spoke.

Though Gordon was a great deal shorter than his older brother’s, and not that much taller than Alan at this point, he was known to have an incredible temper when he finally reached the end of his slow burning fuse, especially when it came to the mental health of his immediate older sibling.

Virgil had often confided in him and John through the difficult times of his fight to manage his condition, the long nights spent trying to draw him out of the downward spiral that his thoughts subjected him to.

“You didn’t even TRY to understand Virgil’s condition, how to help him. How to be there for him. How to-”

“Gordon please,” John’s soft voice interjected as he appeared next to his brothers, “This isn’t helping anything.”

“John, don’t-”

“What good will we be if we can’t even put aside the past for goodness sakes!” The redhead growled, his eyes darting angrily between his siblings.

“Stop it the lot of you!” Alan cried, running across to try and push them away from each other.

“Alan, stay out of this.”

“Oh yeah! Because what good is continuing to hide this from him going to achieve?”

“Gordon, I’m warning you…”

“Scott, leave him alone… You’re just provoking him at this point.”

“Warning me? Oh that’s a good one!”

“Gordon,” John hissed, a lithe hand gripping the smaller man’s arm.

“John!” Gordon yelled, trying to pull him back in, “You know as well as I do how much it crushed Virge to have Dad tell him he tried to take the ‘cowards way out’. What kind of bullshit is that? And then Scotty here just rubs salt in the wounds by-”

 

“SHUT UP!”

  

All four siblings turned around to see Virgil stood shaking at the opposite side of the room, wrapped in the pale blue blanket.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that has been kind enough to bare with me whilst I slowly get through this story.
> 
> I really appreciate everyone’s patience ^-^
> 
> A huge thanks to all that have commented on the story, you really have no idea how much that means to me. 
> 
> Things are a little tricky at the moment, but I desperately hope that it will not prevent me from continuing this story.
> 
> Hope you’re all well my dears <3
> 
> Thank you all.
> 
> Lexi  
> X


	9. Chapter 9

All of the Tracy brothers stood, unmoving, watching on as Virgil trembled beneath the blood-splattered blanket he had acquired from the infirmary.

“Shut up,” Virgil repeated, whispering quietly not to aggravate his tight chest.

The middle child moved his wide eyed gaze to fall across each of his stunned brothers in turn, searching the guilty and shocked faces before him. Scott turned his body to move towards Virgil before John lifted his hand to stop him, a defeated glance across his sharp features.

“All of you… Just...” Virgil choked slightly averting his attention to the floor. “Stop it! I’m right fucking here and I heard every word… EVERYTHING…”

“Virge-”

“I’m… Im n-not... a fu-fucking _psychopath_!”

The exact reason for keeping his thoughts hidden was playing out in front of the middle Tracy. His siblings were eyeing him cautiously like he was a fragile and delicate creature, afraid to spook him. He was stronger than they were giving him credit for, dealing with crushing and intrusive thoughts of crippling self-doubt and hatred for his own very being for so long, he had forgotten the last time someone had asked him how he was feeling.

They would probably see it as bloody-minded stubbornness or secretive fear, though in reality it was neither. To simply exist for the past year, especially the few previous months, had taken every ounce of fight and energy that dwindled in his weakening body. The very fact that physical pain was the only thing that felt real enough to pull him from the clutching jaws of panic, was warning enough that reality was becoming twisted and warped.

For a moment, Virgil had wanted to blame Scott for interrupting him earlier. After all, he would have been able to treat the self inflicted wound as he normally would have and slept away the afternoon until he was no doubt forced to make another false appearance at dinner, leading to him excusing himself for feeling ‘a little under the weather’ and no one questioning it. The fact was, that he had gotten away with it for so long now, that Virgil didn’t really have a reason to stop, the pain of fighting a constant barrage of hateful and cruel thoughts simply numbed by his self-directed anger.

“No one thinks that,” John offered reassuringly as he stepped forward.

Virgil snorted slightly as he slumped into his shoulder against the wall beside him, his aching body was drained of all energy and no longer wanted to fight.

Gordon edged slowly closer to his older sibling, the signs of remorse and anguish instantly recognisable to the younger man.

“C’mon buddy,” Gordon urged, holding his hand tentatively out to his shaking brother, “It’s been a rough day, huh? You still need some rest, okay?”

Eyes screwed shut, Virgil’s breaths grew sharper as he swayed slightly on his feet.

“Virge?” Gordon whispered as Virgil shook his head stubbornly, the knuckles on his hands white from his tight grip on the blanket.

“N-no m-more!”

Virgil’s mind was swirling rapidly and Gordon was beside him in an instant as the older man’s legs buckled from underneath his torso.

The aquanaut caught hold of Virgil’s shoulders as he slid to the floor, cradling his unconscious brother looking up at the rest of them.

“Don’t just stand there, give us a hand to get him to bed for fuck’s sake.”

The eldest swiftly stepped forward and scooped up the blanket wrapped Tracy for the second time that day before slowly heading up towards his room. The four of them stood in the dull monotonous room as Scott carefully laid Virgil into bed, pulling the covers around him gently.

“Geez it’s changed in here,” Alan muttered quietly, slowly walking around the dingy room before sitting on the bed beside Virgil’s huddled form.

John and Gordon looked nervously around Virgil’s bedroom as they took in the unnerving difference in tone and familiarity they observed.

“Gordo, can I borrow you for a moment?” Scott’s question was uttered in a quiet and pleading tone as the younger man turned to face him, shrugging his shoulders before following the eldest out of the room.

Stepping forward towards the foot of the vast bed, John placed his hand on the side of Alan’s head, pulling it gently into the lower part of his chest to offer the youngest a half-hug.

“You okay, Allie?”

Alan nodded quietly in response, his big baby blue eyes never leaving the sight of his older brother’s unconscious form. John observed Virgil’s unmoving body, vivid memories of the last time his mental health had plummeted flooding back to the second eldest as he pulled Alan a little tighter into the embrace.

After their mother’s desperately tragic death Jeff Tracy had driven his sons hard, selecting favorable traits that each of them displayed and spending a great deal of time pushing them towards specific lines of education and encouraging to partake in the improvement of a particular skill set. All of that time, John thought at least, could have been better used to have fun as a family, to grow as children should be allowed to, with gentle and compassionate encouragement.

Encouragement that their mother would have continued to provide had she been alive.

At the beginning of International Rescue the three eldest Tracy boys were forced to leave behind the final precious years of their childhood to fill the future rolls that their father had selected them for. Each of their young lives had been spent being molded into the ideological form their father had planned, stamping out less desirable traits to enforce a strict and often gruelling regime to make them fall in like soldiers. John was thankful that at least Gordon and Alan had been spared the majority of what the eldest three had endured, though had always struggled with the way that Virgil had been pushed physically and mentally past what could realistically be expected from such a young boy.

Keeping hold of the youngest, John looked up as Scott and Gordon hauled a large mattress through the doorway, letting it fall onto the floor beside Virgil’s bed. Scott swiftly left to room to retrieve bed covers and pillows.

“Tracy Pile-up!” Alan whispered excitedly from John’s chest.

Looking at one another, John and Gordon smiled and nodded at their youngest sibling. It had been something they had always done as kids, but more so after they lost their mother. If one brother picked up on the sadness of another, news would spread like a raging wildfire through each of them. Then later that evening, all brothers would convene at the door of the sibling that was in need of reassurance and comfort, sneaking in and piling into the same bed.

As they were children, there was little difficulty in fitting all of them in one bed. As they grew older there had been a particular evening, where Gordon’s bed slats had splintered and snapped under the weight of five young men, when it was decided that an additional mattress would be purchased in the event of any future ‘Pile-Ups’.

After setting up the spare mattress next to Virgil's bed, each of the young men retreated to their rooms one by one to ready themselves for much needed sleep. John and Scott gently eased a pair of loose fitting jogging bottoms onto Virgil’s bare legs before untangling him from the thick infirmary blanket and removing his blood soaked top.

Being that Virgil’s bed was bigger than the mattress, Gordon crawled under the covers beside his older brother and rested his head upon Virgil’s chest to listen to the steady rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat. John slipped under the covers on the mattress and Alan joined him, propping himself up as they watched Scott return to the room after disposing of the blood soaked items of clothing. The eldest switched the bedside lamp on and killed the main lights of the bedroom, plunging the room into a slightly warmer atmosphere due to the orange tint to the light bulb in the lamp.

Waking to the far side of Virgil’s bed, ending up being the furthest away from the two astronauts occupying the mattress on the floor, Scott slid under the covers next to his unconscious sibling and gently laid an arm around Virgil’s shoulders.

A long silence fell over the room, though the occupants more comfortable than than they had been all evening.

“Can’t remember the last time we did this,” John admitted quietly as he lay on his back, the closest to the door.

A few hums of agreement could be heard as each of the brothers settled down in their respective beds.

“Few days after Dad disappeared,” Scott offered quietly, looking down at Virgil’s resting form, gently ruffling a hand in his thick hair. It was a habit that he had kept from childhood, finding it the most efficient way to calm his brother down when he was distressed.

There were many things that, at least presently, were being left unspoken between them all. Each of the brothers needing time to process the days events and how best to tackle it as a team.

There was little doubt that there was going to be a difficult road ahead for all of them, but tonight? Tonight was for the rest they required to heal their wounds, to prepare for the next day and what it would bring.

Tonight was being used to bring them back to being as emotionally and physically close as they had been, through all the tough times in their young lives.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

As Virgil opened his eyes, he felt the dull ache of burning pain begin to radiate through his body like an unstoppable blistering flow of magma from the earth's crust.

  
Groaning quietly, he made to sit up in the bed before he realised he was unable to move. Shifting his hands and hips he noticed the restriction of thick straps against his wrists, legs and chest.

  
Gulping back the small pool of saliva that had collected at the back of his throat, Virgil looked down to see himself strapped to a hospital gurney, a pale mint coloured gown covering his body.

  
The room around him was stark and the brightness of the white walls made his eyes burn as he strained to take in his surroundings. There were people shuffling past the small window in the door to the room, occasionally they stopped to observe him with dead empty eyes.

  
Where was he?

  
The sound of the door opening made him startle as a young man dressed in a elongated white coat entered the room followed by two larger orderlies in pale periwinkle scrubs.

  
“Ah! Mr Tracy, it would appear you’ve finally decided to join the land of the living,” The young man started, his tone condescendingly artificial.

  
Swallowing nervously, Virgil eyed the men in the room carefully.

  
“Whe-where am I?” He asked, his voice thick and rasping.

  
One of the orderlies huffed an amused snort before nudging the other lightly.

  
“You’re in your room here, at the Riverway Mental Asylum.” The man in the white coat said coolly, “Do you remember who brought you here?”

  
Virgil shook his head sluggishly.

  
“Your brothers brought you here, do you remember, Mr Tracy?” The man cocked his head.

  
Again he shook his head, sadness weighing down on his chest like great boulders and the man’s words repeating in his head. A mental asylum? These places didn’t exist anymore, did they? Had his brothers really sent him here?

  
“Why am I here?” Virgil muttered, watching warily as the two orderlies moved to either side of the gurney he was on.

  
“I’m surprised you don’t remember, those who were there certainly won’t forget it. You caused quite the scene… Terrible shame on the Tracy family name if you ask me.” The man chuckled cruelly, picking out a sheathed needle from his deep coat pockets and moving towards Virgil. “You’re not going to make this difficult for us, are you?”

  
Immediately pulling himself away from the man, Virgil shook his head wildly.

  
“Good.” Came the sneering voice once more before he tutted loudly. “Killing all of your dear brothers… one by one… with your bare hands? There’s a special kind of hell reserved for the likes of you. You should have seen how scared young Alan was.”

  
“NO!” Virgil cried out, his head shaking violently from side to side. “You’re lying! I would n-never hurt… I, I… I d-don’t understand! Please, I couldn’t have...” He pleaded, straining his neck as he fought against the restraints, seeing stains of brilliant crimson on his arms.

  
Had they been there before?

  
“Shhh… Mr Tracy, please.” The man hushed as he placed a hand on Virgil’s forehead. “There’s no need for this to be any more unpleasant than it has to be.”

  
Ferociously wrestling against the straps that held him in place, Virgil growled in frustration unable to make the restraints give or budge, even with every ounce of strength he possessed.

  
The medical orderly viciously pinned his struggling arm in place, sharp nails leaving crescent-moon shaped lesions in his thick skin. The man in the coat removed the cap which housed the elongated hypodermic needle before burying it into the crook of Virgil’s elbow with a sharp spike.

  
Pain radiated outwards like a lightning bolt from the puncture mark, the liquid spreading like a raging wildfire through his arteries and veins. The electrical wave of torture soon began to backtrack, as the needle was removed. Virgil’s mind was in turmoil as it felt as though each and every blood vessel was being torn inside out through the point at which the needle had entered his skin.

  
It was as though someone had adjusted the hues and saturation levels in his brain, like recalibrating the colours on a screen, his vision now weakened to a diluted sepia undertone with washed out dusty iron shades that tinged any darker shadows.

  
Something was wrong - _really wrong_. His brothers would never have deserted him in a place like this. Would they? He wouldn’t dare lay a finger on them, never hurt them… Had he really killed them?

  
His body began to feel distant, as though his consciousness was floating away.

  
Scott had always teased Virgil and Gordon when they were kids that there were monsters who would come out and get them if they didn’t stay in their bed when they were put there at night. Their mother had spent weeks trying to convince them both that their eldest brother had been joking and there was nothing waiting to eat them the moment they stepped out of bed.

  
But now, as Virgil lay upon his childhood bed, his young adult body too tall to fit properly, he wasn’t so sure. A slim figure loomed at the foot of his bed, rising silently.

  
The figure appeared in the distantly familiar form of his mother. She stared at him with lidded eyes, her icy gaze robbed of any emotion and her sharpened cheekbones accentuated her skeletal appearance. Virgil shivered as if suddenly surrounded by an icy tundra.

  
A bony finger beckoned him towards her, her eyes like black holes, a dark oblivion swirling and engulfing her once warm mahogany irises until the whites were swallowed too. Empty pits now stared at Virgil, who felt as if his soul was being devoured by the obsidian pools. Time slows down, dripping by like a slow leaking faucet as she moves to stand beside him - his mother had always haunted him in each nightmare, never speaking.

  
Virgil tried to move his arms, willing every part of his being to just raise a finger, but his body remains still as though pinned beneath a rockslide. Fragile icy fingers caress his shaking forehead, the same action she had used to soothe him as a child. He lay there, motionless, unable to move.

  
“I’m sorry, mom.” He breathes almost without a sound, his eyes straining sideways to look at his mother’s spectral form for a final time. “I didn’t kill them, did I?”

  
It’s never his mother that scares him, it’s the total deep-reaching terror of being trapped in paralysis that accomplishes that.

  
Virgil assures himself that this is only a dream, that he will wake soon, away from the guilt-ridden deafening silence of this room.  
Screwing his eyes shut and focusing his mind, he wills himself to wake, to be free of the silent disappointment. The words from some forgotten therapy session ringing in his ears.

  
_“Listen only to the sound of my voice. Let your mind relax. Let your thoughts drift. Let the bad memories fade. Let peace be upon you. Surrender yourself to your dreams. Let them wash over you like the gentle waves of the bluest ocean. Let them envelop you. Comfort you.”_

  
_“Imagine yourself in a frozen forest…”_

  
When his eyes finally open, Virgil is in the dark frost-bitten woods he willed himself to picture. His bare feet crunch against frigid snow and crisp frozen leaves as he staggered forward, barbed branches grasping as the skin of his arms and hospital gown.

  
_“You're standing in a clearing. With trees around you so tall, they touch the sky...”_

  
Each quick breath hangs in sluggish translucent clouds in the snowfall around his shaking body as he steadily pressed through the thick undergrowth into a small clearing.

  
_“Pure white snowflakes fall all around. You can feel them melt on your skin. You are not cold...”_

  
There was a blood-curdling growl that echoed through the dense forest, followed by a rustling noise emanating from the trees beside him.

  
_“Focus on the sound of your beating heart. Can you hear it? You only have to listen…”_

  
Turning to face the source of the low and menacing noise, Virgil’s wide eyes fell upon a colossal black wolf, it’s piercing yellow eyes glowing in the ambient moonlight.

  
Staggering backwards away from the advancing beast, Virgil felt his bare heel clip something on the floor before he was violently flipped and dragged upwards by his ankle.

  
The rush of blood to his head stunned him for a moment as he glanced up at a thick hessian rope that was snared around his leg, trapping him with his forehead suspended just off the snowy forest floor.

  
Virgil watched in horror as the wolf prowled towards him, saliva dripping from its exposed rabid jaws, tongue curling around elongated canines and accompanied by a low snarl.

  
A flash of black fur preceded razor sharp teeth ripping deep into his flesh, tearing it away from bones and scattering bloody chunks across the pristine blank snow. Frantically he opened his mouth to scream in pain for help, but no sound escaped.

  
The wolf stepped back before greedily eating Virgil’s flesh before his very eyes. He was about to be savagely devoured alive and there was no one there to help. Nothing he could do to prevent he wolf turning around for it’s final attack.

  
The scream he would have made was torn out with the rest of his larynx and trachea as the wolf’s teeth tore ferociously into his throat. The gurgling sound his lungs made as air bubbled up through the torrent of gore filled Virgil’s ears.

  
_“Can you hear it slowing? You're slowing it. You are in control... Calm... At peace”_

 

 

 

Shooting upright in his own bed, Virgil choked and gasped for breath. His wide mahogany eyes darted towards the window onto where the shimmering early morning sun was reflecting off the South Pacific Ocean beyond.

  
Despite the nightmare being over, he could not shake the unmistakable horrific terror that gripped his hammering heart for the minutes following the jarring shock of awakening.

  
His body was bathed in a thin sheen of torrid sweat, his body shivering as his chest heaved for each breath like there was a chance it might be his last. Sore muscles protested at his sudden shift in position, wincing again as he leant back against his bed his arm nudging something warm beside him.

  
Eyes snapped to steal a glance at what his arm had connected with. He noticed the figure of his immediate younger brother softly snoring beside him. Checking the other side, he found Scott lying with a pillow clutched to his chest and beyond him, John and Alan asleep on a mattress on the floor.

  
Virgil felt a swell of relief that his sibling’s had joined together to help him, the happiness immediately snuffed out and diminished by the agonising stab of remorse for causing his brother’s to worry so deeply that they were now reluctant to leave him alone.

  
Shifting himself onto his side, Virgil visibly startled when he looked up into dark cobalt blue eyes.

  
“Morning,” Scott grumbled, watching his younger brother’s eyes dart away as he hurriedly grunted in response causing the eldest to frown and sigh heavily. “Don’t be like that, Virge.”

  
Scott reached a hand out and gripped his brother’s shoulder lightly, “I’m sorry you heard us fighting…” he kept his monotonous voice low, pausing as he watched Virgil’s body tense, “We all wanna help, okay? We’re not against you. I won’t screw this up like I did last time - I can’t lose you, Virge.”

  
Looking up at Scott, Virgil hesitated before leaning his head forward and covering it with his hands as he dug the balls of his palms into his tired eyes.

  
“I’m sorry I killed you,” he mumbled quietly.  
“Huh?” Scott hesitated before wrapping his arm around Virgil’s shoulders, stunned by his words and still unaccustomed to how much slimmer his younger brother felt. “It’s okay, I guess?” he reassured, looking up over Virgil’s head to see a pair of golden amber eyes boring into his own - Gordon was awake.

  
Scott hastily added, “Don’t need to be sorry, Virge.”

  
Rolling his eyes, Gordon scooted closer to his immediate older brother who quickly realised his teenage brother was awake. Virgil rolled over and pulled him into a strong hug, repeatedly muttering apologies for his imagined actions as Gordon held him tightly.

  
“S’alright bud,” Gordon croaked, his voice still thick with sleepiness. “You’re okay. Was just a dream, we’re all safe, alright? Everyone’s alive and well, you’ve seen Johnny and kiddo on the floor right? We’re all here.”

  
Nodding haltingly, Virgil allowed himself to recline into his younger brother’s arms. The nightmarish thoughts beginning to melt away, taking his anxiety with them.

  
Holding on until he was sure Virgil had slipped back into his slumber, Gordon looked up at his eldest brother sternly. “Nightmares.” He stated flatly, his expression one of exasperation.

  
“I had no idea…” Scott trailed off dejectedly, reaching a hand out to rest on his younger brother’s back as he lay in repose.

  
“No. Of course not...” Gordon bit back sharply. “You wouldn’t… You only think abo-”

  
“Gordon.” John hissed through gritted teeth, having sat up from his slumber on the mattress by the bed. “Not the time.”

  
“Oh fuck this.” Peeling back the covers, Scott hastily stood up and stepped over the end of the mattress before leaving the room, his footsteps heavy as he cleared the threshold of the door.

  
“Gords…” John offered quietly, shifting himself onto his knees to lean across to his younger brother. “It’s going to take a little time to-”  
The deliberate snort from Gordon made John recoil slightly, sighing loudly at the aquanaut’s attitude.

  
“You know as well as I do what his nightmares are about... you think that Scott’s sweeping blanket of ‘it’s all just fucking dandy’ is gonna help that?” Gordon sniped quietly. “Spare me the bullshit, Johnny.”

  
The sigh was exasperated this time, the redhead pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “Settle down, Gords.” John pleaded softly in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “You know full well that’s not fair.”

  
Stirring from the words of his siblings, Virgil slouched onto his back as he felt his temper flare. “What good is fighting?” He mumbled, rolling himself out of the bed, drawing his brothers attention. “Just give me a few hours to myself and I’ll be fine.”

  
Gordon and John exchanged nervous glances as Virgil yanked a pair of jogging bottoms from his closet and pulled them on clumsily, reaching for a t-shirt.

  
“Besides, it seems you guys need a break from this too.” Virgil huffed solemnly as he grabbed his rich pea-green hooded jacket from the sideboard, heading for the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Frozen Forest” the neurological landscape created by ‘Corvus’ - Excerpt from Black Ops III.
> 
> _Listen only to the sound of my voice. Let your mind relax. Let your thoughts drift. Let the bad memories fade. Let peace be upon you. Surrender yourself to your dreams. Let them wash over you like the gentle waves of the bluest ocean. Let them envelop you. Comfort you._
> 
> _Imagine somewhere calm. Imagine somewhere safe. Imagine yourself in a frozen forest. You're standing in a clearing. Trees around you so tall, they touch the sky. Pure white snowflakes fall all around. You can feel them melt on your skin. You are not cold. It cannot overcome the warmth of your beating heart. Can you hear it? You only have to listen._
> 
> _Can you hear it slowing? You're slowing it. You are in control. Calm. At peace._
> 
> The full piece is a wonderfully relaxing and haunting bit of writing that was used to simulate life after death. I’ve always held it close to my heart as it conjured the image of the forests surrounding the Belgian town of Foy where, during the Battle of the Bulge in WWII, the Ardennes forest and the allied forces hunkered down within were battered with German artillery fire during the fiercely bitter winter of 1944. 
> 
> Though I could never feel the terror and discomfort they would have endured, the above excerpt has always been a grounding force in my own personal times of difficulty.


End file.
